


But now alone I lie (or, 5 times the family protected III and one time he protected them)

by Only_Slightly_Obsessed (A_Stressed_Cupcake)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: ), 5+1 Things, Angst, BUT NOT FOR LONG HAHA :, Fluff and Angst, Gen, III-centric, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Mid-Canon, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Protective Family, good parent Byron Arclight, like chapter 1 is pretty fluffy but HAH it gets worse because it's me :D, that's right I am basic, we got a little bit of everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/Only_Slightly_Obsessed
Summary: It's cold, for the most part, so cold that he forgets the warmth of a hand in his.But, now and then, something happens that almost makes him remember._____or, I need more protective family content and these four were well within my writing range so HERE, a 5+1 that ranges from wholesome to angsty to comic relief (thank Thomas for all three).Pre, mid and post-canon fics just in case you needed some fluffy angst.I. Michael learns that everyone has a family.II. Michael is reminded that occasional delinquency in an orphanage is okay
Relationships: Arclight family
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. I, or, Michael learns that everyone has a family

He's three years old and he's alone. 

Alone in the garden, just for a moment, because he's a good child and good children can look after themselves for a moment while Daddy gets his glasses. Besides, there is no way he could climb that tall fence all around the house, nor could he squeeze through the bars; there are no dangerous animals around, no poisonous plants, just grass and solid trees and a yard full of daisies. It's been April for a week and the whole world seems to be full of daisies.

He sinks his little hands into a patch of moss by the oak tree and tears it out. Chris said that moss isn't always good for the trees. Maybe. Chris knows a lot more than he does. He's probably right.

Humid dirt clings stubbornly to his nails after he tosses the patch of moss away. It doesn't matter. He always washes his hands after playing outside. Daddy says it's good.

He digs a little deeper. The roots of the tree start poking out of his little makeshift mine. Sometimes there's rocks there, too. 

Something else catches his eye, though, something much lighter in colour than all those rocks and all that dirt. It's almost white. It's firmly stuck between the roots of the tree. He bites his lip. His hands tremble with effort and excitement as he digs up more and more dirt.

The thing is almost spherical, he notes. It's very small, and looks almost like a little rock with holes in it. Two little holes next to each other and a bigger hole underneath, that show the apparently empty inside of the thing. It's only empty after he digs all the dirt out of it.

It looks kinda funny.

He looks into his little makeshift cave and spots another thing of a similar colour nearby.

"Oh…" he whispers. His grin grows wider and he stuffs his hands between the roots again. 

But then something moves beside his wrist. 

A burning pain explodes through the side of his hand and he pulls it away from the hole immediately with a little cry of pain.

"Ah…" he babbles, staring at his hand. Something is stuck to it, something thin and brown, like a twig, but moving. It's hard to see through the tears forming in his eyes, but he knows he doesn't want it there. Michael shakes his hand furiously, babbling the whole time, until the thing lets go of him and slithers away.

He still can't see very well. But it's not hard to see the red drops running down his wrist.

He knows red is bad. The other day, Thomas got into the knife drawer and ran out of the kitchen sobbing two minutes later, with a big red slash across his fingers.

Red is bad.

There is red on his hand.

He doesn't try to stop the wail that rips from his chest. Nor the sobbing fit afterwards. 

He doesn't know what to do except sit there and cry, because his hand hurts and there's more and more red by the second.

Someone touches his shoulder. He doesn't stop crying.

"Oh. Oh dear. Here, come here, it's alright." they whisper, and before he knows it he's off the ground, he's being carried, and he knows Daddy has come back. He still can't stop sobbing, but at least his father will know what to do. He knew what to do with Thomas, he will know what to do with him.

He snuggles up to his dad's chest, still cradling his hand, and leans his head against his shoulder. His braid tickles his nose, but it's okay.

" _ Chris, get the kit, please! _ " he hears his father shout as they pass the staircase. Light running footsteps upstairs confirm that Chris heard what he said.

And, sure enough, he's there too, when Dad sits him down to examine his hand. 

Michael has stopped wailing, but he's still sobbing quietly on the chair that's too big for him.

Chris, awkward as always, just offers him a little pat on the head.

Dad smiles: "It's okay. Look, it's not that bad. You just found a snake while you were digging around."

Chris seems startled and gives him a more thorough look, too alarmed to say anything. When Chris panics, he goes silent.

"It's not venomous." Dad clarifies, "Look, Chris, you want to tell your brother how we know it's not venomous?"

Michael turns his eyes on him expectantly. Chris hesitantly takes his hand to examine it and seems to think for a moment.

"The shape of the bite." he concludes, "All the teeth are the same size."

"Exactly. This snake doesn't have fangs." Dad nods, "Very good."

Truth be told, Michael doesn't really know what  _ venimus _ means, but they seem very happy to know that the snake wasn't, so he decides he can hold that thought. Besides, Chris looks proud of himself. He bounces on his heels once, looking nervously around the room: "Thank you, dad."

"Don't thank me, you're very smart. I take no credit for that." Dad laughs, rubbing the snake bite with a bit of cotton dipped in disinfectant. It stings a lot, but Dad said that's normal and it means the disinfectant is fighting off the bacteria. Michael knows that bacteria are a bad thing, Dad told him, and in all honesty he admires the disinfectant for so bravely fighting them all the time. He wishes he could see the battle happening under his skin. He wonders if the bacteria have tiny little spears and if the disinfectant rides a tiny little horse. It would be a very funny battle to look at.

"And… there!" Dad declares, tucking the stray end of a bandage under the rest, "All done. See, the blood is gone." 

Blood.

That's the red thing, right?

"Try not to dig around trees without looking next time. There can be snake nests around there. You probably scared a mother snake."

"A mother snake?" he repeats.

"Yes." Dad nods, "Snakes have parents too. Like you. And if the parent snakes think their babies are in danger, they will attack. Even if you didn't mean to hurt them. It's just what parents do." 

Michael sniffs, but he's long since stopped sobbing. Dad wipes one last tear away and continues: "Parents want to protect their children. It's only natural. It's  _ so  _ natural that even animals do it. If an animal attacks you for no reason it might actually be because you got too close to where their family is."

"Oh…"

"Animals have families too, Michael. Everyone has someone they want to protect."

Michael nods: "Just like us."

"Just like us." Dad smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after an insightful conversation, I finally found it in myself to publish this. I have about two and a half chapters written of this and I am terribly nervous.   
> But what can I say? I needed more wholesome pre canon :,)  
> If you can guess what Michael dug up, uh... yeah. Kid's got talent :)
> 
> Next chapter: the wholesome orphanage content we all deserve
> 
> -Rémy


	2. II, or, Michael is reminded that occasional delinquency in an orphanage is okay

He's ten years old and he's alone.

Alone in the dorm room, because that's where all the boys up to ten years old sleep and he wants to sleep. Technically, it's not allowed, but he just can't stand to be around people right now. He distinctly remembers sneaking away from the game room because all the noise the other children were making was making his chest pulse uncomfortably, his ears ring, his brain turn sluggish. 

Too much noise. 

He's hiding under the covers in the little bunk bed he shares with Eisuke. Eisuke isn't very nice. He shoved him off of the top bunk last year, when they moved to this room, because he wanted top bunk and apparently he didn't think to just ask. It really was all the same to Michael. All the beds were new and he hated every single one. It would've been uncomfortable no matter what, but at least top bunk meant being farther away from whatever was under the bed. 

Back then, Thomas was in the same room, and told the younger boys that there was a monster under the beds. Thus began the war for top bunks.

Thomas laughed like a maniac the whole time. Until Eisuke shoved Michael off the bed, that is, at which point the entire staff of the orphanage was forced to intervene. Less than a month later, Thomas was moved to the older boys' section of the dorms, in spite of his protests.

So he's alone again, and no one will tell Eisuke or the other boys to shut up and leave him alone.

He draws the blankets close, over his head and all around him, until he's sure that not even a strand of his hair is poking out.

There's a little light filtering under the blanket, bleached white by the drab colour of the sheets. It's no sunlight. It's not the same, it's not as warm.

Warm colours are a comfort to him, but this colour is cold.

He curls up a bit more, feeling the familiar sting of a tear in his eye. He's alone. Normally, Thomas joins him for playtime when no one else will. Today, though, he has apparently been challenged, and if there is one thing that's sure to get him somewhere without complaint, it's a challenge. Maybe Michael should try it. Challenging him. It would certainly get him to play with him. Then again, he's a bit scared to do that. Thomas is terrifyingly competitive; on a dare, he becomes ten times as ruthless. Brother or not, he would get squashed.

So he's alone, for however long is left until playtime is over and until Thomas beats whoever had the frankly terrible idea to challenge him.

He hums quietly under the blankets. It's hardly a tune, it sounds more like simple vocal exercises, like the ones Minako does. 

Minako left three weeks ago.

She was eleven and she was just starting to reach that age where children have no hope of ever being adopted, when one of the cleaning ladies heard her sing. Since then, she's trained and practiced and, in a matter of weeks, she found a loving couple ready to take her home.

It makes him a bit sad. It was always nice to hear Minako sing with that angelic little voice of hers.

He doesn't have friends. The other kids make fun of him when he can't pronounce their names right, or when he fails to understand some of the words they say, or when he struggles to find the right word to explain himself.

They say their names wrong, too.  _ Michael  _ and  _ Thomas _ sound nothing like their names in the mouth of the other children, nothing like how Dad used to pronounce them, how Thomas still pronounces them, though he's beginning to have a strange accent. Thomas doesn’t speak English as much anymore.

It's weird. It creates a gap in his mind between Michael and Thomas and  _ Michael  _ and  _ Thomas _ . The gap widens, and he feels like he might fall in. So he clings to the pillow tightly and squeezes his eyes shut and hopes the Earth will have pity on him and not swallow him whole.

_ Creak _ .

Voices.

Playtime must be over.

_ Don't notice me _ , he prays,  _ just don't notice me. Go to bed, it's naptime _ .

All hope of not being noticed falls apart when the familiar voice of a woman joins the choir of children in the room.

" _ Michael _ !! Where is that little- have any of you seen him?"

The other boys all deny it.

The lady, Nakamura-san, the boys call her, sounds utterly furious: "If he keeps vanishing like this, I'll stop looking for him." she mumbles, opening the closets and slamming them shut again, "He can run into the street for all I care."

Michael has a feeling he wasn't supposed to hear that. Or maybe he was. It's not like Nakamura-san ever cared about the children hearing her. The adults are a different story entirely, though.

His hand clenches the blankets a little tighter.

"Maybe he's outside." suggests one of the boys.

"What?" scoffs Eisuke, "Has _no_ _one_ noticed the blanket?"

There is a moment of silence as everyone ponders their own searching skills, or lack thereof. Even under the blanket, Michael can feel their glares on him. 

He has seconds before he's found.

Less than five, as it turns out when Nakamura-san rips the blanket off of him so violently that he nearly falls off the bed with it.

She looks  _ angry _ .

"There you are! How many times do I have to tell you to stay with the rest of the group, you little demon?"

Loud.

"I-"

"I don't wanna hear it!" she yells, pulling him off the bed by the wrist, "You wanna sleep alone, you can sleep alone!"

"Wait!!" he cries, but she won't listen. The grip on his arm is painful and uncaring. He knows where she's taking him. There's a tiny little room, far away from the children's dorms, behind the boiler room. There's nothing in it, except for one bed, one flickering lightbulb, and the terrifying creaks and gurgles that come from the boiler room.

They call it the  _ single room _ . Michael calls it the  _ ghost room _ . Thomas calls it  _ solitary confinement _ , whatever that means.

And no one likes it.

Michael hears voices between the hisses of steam next door. He doesn't know what they're saying, or who they are, but he knows they're there to hurt him. 

Tears prick his eyes.

"Don't leave me there!" he sobs, "Please, please don't leave me there, I'm scared, the- the voices, they- I don't wanna-"

Nakamura-san shushes him: "Maybe next time you'll think twice before running off on your own."

It's no use pleading to her. They've done this so many times before. Michael stops screaming, but he doesn't stop crying, or pointing his foot in a useless attempt to delay the inevitable.

_ Crash! _

Nakamura-san stops dead in her tracks. 

It sounded like shattered glass. Coming from the older boys' bedroom, no less, where glass should  _ never _ be, for the sake of everyone involved.

In fact, the only thing that could've made a similar noise is…

"The window." she whispers, going pale. She turns a venomous stare on Michael: "You got lucky. Stay right here or I'll put you in the single room again tomorrow."

He nods quietly and she leaves.

As much as he would like to run back to the dorm, or maybe find a better hiding spot, he is  _ not _ willing to test his luck. He can't spend two whole nights alone in the ghost room. The voices are getting stronger. If he stays there too long, they're going to finally break through the wall and come for him, he knows.

All the sobs he's tried to stifle are making him weak in the legs. He collapses against the wall and hugs his knees tight to his chest.

" _ Psst _ ."

He raises his head with a quiet sniffle. That sounds like-

" _ Hey _ .  _ Over here _ ."

He turns his head to his left. Thomas's arm is poking out of the pantry, beckoning him to come closer.

He almost does it.

The memory of the voices stops him.

When he doesn't hear him move, Thomas pokes his head out: "What's the holdup?"

He shakes his head with a sniff: "She said I can't move from here."

"Well, she's not the boss of you."

"She's going to put me in the ghost room." he whimpers, curling up tighter.

Thomas doesn't seem impressed: "No, she's not. She'll have to find the key I buried first."

Michael lets out a breathy, stuttering laugh: "You  _ took  _ her _ key _ ?? You  _ buried _ it??"

"Shush!" Thomas scolds him, "You wanna blow my cover?"

"Sorry!" he sobs, but he's smiling.

"And they can't have us sleep in that dorm while the window is broken." 

Michael feels a surge of hope: "Does that mean you're staying with us?"

"I mean, that's what they usually do when I break the window, yes."

He's laughing too, now. Michael's laugh is a strange, sobbing laugh, but it's full of evident relief. It's an odd moment of peace and, like all such moments, doesn't last very long before they hear the telltale sound of footsteps and a bin full of broken glass shifting around.

"She's coming!" whispers Thomas, "Play along. If she asks, I was never here. Got it?"

He nods frantically. Of course he's not gonna tell on him. Why would he?

Thomas disappears behind the corner, only moments before Nakamura-san comes back, fuming.

"Perfect." she mumbles, "Just perfect. I've got two hours to move six preteens to a different room full of small children. And clean up the rest of this mess. Don't make me waste any more time."

She grabs him by the wrist before he's even had a chance to get up, dragging him along with one hand and carrying the bin full of glass with the other. She is, if possible, even angrier than before, but Michael isn't scared.

He doesn't sleep in the ghost room that night, or the next, or the next. No one does, until Nakamura-san manages to have a copy of the key made, and by that moment so many other children have angered her that she's completely forgotten about punishing him.

For those few days, while Thomas is around, no one even  _ thinks _ about him.

And that's more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilingual Arclight rights!!  
> Is there a word for that weird feeling when you speak two languages and your name is pronounced differently depending on who you're speaking to and you start to dissociate a little bit? Maybe not. Do I care? Also not.
> 
> Thomas has been practicing trickery and splitting his personality clean in two to better fit his surroundings from a very early age I see.
> 
> Next chapter: I did not intend to write splatter but I guess we're doing this now. :)
> 
> -Rémy


End file.
